


Goodnight

by Obsessed_Fander



Series: Life As An Assassin [2]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:15:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23273053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Obsessed_Fander/pseuds/Obsessed_Fander
Summary: A mini-story and prequel to An Assassin's DownfallSneaking around is hard. Being truly silent is harder. Doing so as a young child? Well, most would say it's impossible.
Series: Life As An Assassin [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1673518
Kudos: 4





	Goodnight

Darkness surrounds me, and I linger in the shadows. I wait, listening intently for any noise. The house groans, people snore nearby, and out in the meadows a lone coyote howls. I place one foot forwards, gingerly placing the weight on the old wood. It takes a few seconds to safely rest on the wood, waiting for it to creak. When no sound is made I place my other foot forwards, stepping fully out of the shadows. Two steps. That’s progress, I suppose. I practice every night, and it has become apparent just how difficult it is to have truly silent steps.  
It seems easy at first. Just don’t stomp, and everything will be okay. Avoid squeaky floorboards. The general things. But some boards or tiles will groan at the slightest amount of weight. Some shoes always make a sound unless you take five minutes to place your foot down. Some houses will shake at even the lightest of steps. And that’s before you take into account the silence surrounding you. Don’t touch the wall, it makes a sound. Don’t let your clothes touch each other, the slightest rustle can wake a light sleeper, or alert someone that something’s wrong. Each step has to be carefully thought out, and it’s even more difficult if you don’t know the place, if you’re unaware just where it makes noise, exactly where everyone sleeps and where the cattle rests, how the house looks and feels. I can’t imagine having to sneak into houses when I’m older. For now I just lead them out, get them alone, and complete the job.  
But I don’t have a job tonight. I already completed my one for the month, so I’m good for another two or three weeks right now. I balance, practicing my steps. One foot forwards. Wait for a noise. Another foot forwards. Listen to the sounds. Slowly I make my way to the kitchen, step by step, second by second, until I have a knife in my hand.  
I grow faster over time. Each step leads to more confidence, and no sounds are made. I step, then listen. Step, then listen. But now it takes less time to take a step, to ensure I land silently and where I want to. I begin to walk at an almost normal pace, and still no sound. I don’t dare push it further, for fear that I’ll wake someone up in my compromising position, but it is still a monumental achievement. One surely to be celebrated by the task I am practicing this for.  
And who better to practice on then those who forced me into this?  
My parents door slides open without sound, a skill I learned before being forced to need it. They’re sleeping peacefully, a gentle snore echoing through the room as their chests rise and fall. I close my eyes for a split second, and it’s like the world disappears. I remember sitting here at night when I couldn’t sleep, too afraid to wake them up, but too scared to sit alone in my bed. The sound of my father’s quiet snores, my mother’s slow breaths, the creaking of the house all lulling me to sleep. They’d find me in the morning, just outside their room, and they’d carry me to bed before getting to work. I open my eyes, drawing myself out of the memory. The knife glistens in the moonlight and I take another step forwards, the knight growing silent.   
My ears are ringing, nothing else making it past the noise. A step, then another, and soon I’m at the edge of the bed, the knife hovering above my mother’s throat. Just one movement, and then I’d flee. Then we’d be put into different homes, and I wouldn’t need my awful job. Then my siblings would be taken care of and not have to work on the farm. Just one movement, and it all goes away. The blade rests on her skin, just barely making contact. I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and slice.  
I lift the knife, examining it. No blood, just as planned. I glance down at my mother. She doesn’t wake, a light line on her throat. Just barely slicing through the first layer of skin, not even enough to feel it. I walk over to the other side of the bed and do the same to my father, and return the knife to the kitchen. I may have little to no qualms about killing them now, but the burden it would put on my siblings until we’re taken away would be unbearable. Plus someone would discover who’d killed them, and then I’d be charged with murder, which would lead them to discover all my other kills, and I don’t want that kind of stress right now. I pad over to my bed, taking one final glance at the door before falling asleep.

When I wake in the morning my parents are horrified at the marks, staring at me with fear as I calmly walk into the kitchen. My siblings shy away from me, my parents look on in terror, and I continue about my day. I didn’t hurt them, but I did manage to send a message. You can break a mind oh so easily, and it’s impossible to repair it. Doing so to a child, with little sense of responsibility beforehand, can lead to the most dangerous situations in existence. If apathy towards death is necessary for my job, then I better start developing it, and fast. And what better way to develop apathy than to charge it at someone you know?


End file.
